


Rainy Days cause Flares of Pain

by ClayJackson



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Caretaking, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pain Flare, queerplatonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClayJackson/pseuds/ClayJackson
Summary: Oswald’s limp was obvious from the moment anyone saw him, much less Victor. What wasn’t so obvious was everything else that came with the limp. The aching joints, the tight muscles, the throbs of pain that he hid so well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald has chronic pain, not just an injured ankle, and rain storms wreak havoc on his body. Victor's concerned if he's eaten enough and makes him breakfast, against his better judgement.

Oswald’s limp was obvious from the moment anyone saw him, much less Victor. What wasn’t so obvious was everything else that came with the limp. The aching joints, the tight muscles, the throbs of pain that he hid so well. 

Victor picks up on it quickly once he’s living in Oswald’s house with the others. As much as Oswald hid it, Victor had experience with having a disabled spouse; he could tell when one was hiding their pain.

He starts doing little things for him to try and help. Things like making sure there’s a cane near Oswald, leaving a couple of pain pills with his meals, making sure he drinks plenty of water. It’s a rainy, miserable week, and Victor hasn’t seen Oswald in the last two days. 

He makes a simple breakfast (eggs, toast, apple slices), and goes to Oswald’s room. He knocks on the door before entering, knowing that if he gives Oswald a moment to respond he would kick him out. 

“Get. Out.” Oswald snaps at him as he pushes his way into the room. Victor sees him curled up on the bed with a heavy blanket over him. His eyes are peering out from the edge of it, most of his face covered, but Victor can see that he is pissed and in pain.

“Oswald, you need to eat something,” he says as he makes his way over to the bed. He sets the plate down on the table near the bed and drags a chair over. 

“I’ve been eating,” he hisses, rolling over to turn his back to Victor. He’s jerky and stiff in his movements and Victor swears he can hear him hiss.

“Yes, but you need to eat real food,” Victor insists. “Ice cream from your bedside fridge isn’t enough.”

There’s a long, tense moment of silence between the two of them, both stubborn bastards.

“Fine,” Oswald spits out, wrenching his body around and grinding his teeth together. It takes him a long time, but eventually he sits up, slamming the back of his head against the head board and grimacing. 

Victor sighs in relief, glad he doesn’t have to push him anymore. He knows that sometimes you need to push to help someone, but he also knows that pushing too much can cause even more pain. He picks the plate back up and sets it on Oswald’s lap, handing him the fork. 

Oswald glares at him as he lifts the toast to his mouth and takes an aggressive bite of it. He chews it maliciously for a moment before slowing down and looking away from Victor. He takes another bite, this one with far less aggression in it, and starts to enjoy the meal. He would never admit it, but Victor was right, he did need to eat real food. He quickly devourers the plate. It was simple, nothing that would trigger his nausea, but it was good. Victor was a fantastic cook. 

With a sigh, both indignant and content, he holds the plate out to Victor. “There, are you happy?” 

Victor nods, taking the plate back from him and holding out the glass of water he had brought. “You need to drink too.”

Oswald’s nostrils flair as he snatches the cup from his hand and downs it quickly, slamming it back down on the bedside table. “Are you quite finished?”

There’s a pause as Victor looks at him. His eyes are sunken and tired, his skin flushed, a tightness in his jaw. This weather was really doing a number on him.

“Well?”

Victor snaps out of his thoughts, seeing just how furious Oswald was. He lets out a deep sigh as he grabs the plate and the glass. “I’ll bring you dinner later,” he says. He stands up and makes his way to the door, hearing Oswald mutter something insulting under his breath as he laid back down and pulled the blanket back around him. He turns the doorknob.

“Wait.”

He pauses, turning around to look back at Oswald. He’s submerged in the blanket again, his back to Victor. 

“Thank you,” he says, and god, that probably had to be more painful than any physical sensation he was feeling.

Victor thinks for a moment, wondering if he should offer anything else to him. No, better not to. He didn’t want to push too hard.

“You’re welcome,” he decides is all he needs to say before leaving the room, making sure the door is shut tightly behind him. He stands there for a moment, looks down at the dishes, sighs, and takes them to the kitchen to get washed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor returns to Oswald with dinner and helps him to the bathroom despite his stubbornness.

Victor makes dinner for all of them, as he always does. With Oswald not being the best cook and Ivy and Bridget both content on living off microwaved frozen meals he was the one left to do it. Not that he minded, he had been the one to cook for his wife. He’d come to like it, enjoying the time and care he put into it and seeing the satisfaction on peoples’ faces. 

He makes a big, warm dinner for everyone to combat the dreary weather. Roasted potatoes, broccoli, and carrots, garlic roasted chicken, and some seasoned rice. He also makes some tofu for Ivy to eat as well.

He grabs a glass of water and a plate, piling a lot of rice on it, as well as a smaller piece of chicken and a small scoop of the vegetables. Excusing himself from the other two (not that he needs to), he heads to Oswald’s room. He knocks on the door, again, opening it before he can give him a response.

Oswald is laying on his back when Victor comes in, turning his head to glare at him. “I was hoping you would decide against bothering me more,” he says, most of the earlier tones of “Thank you” gone. Reluctantly though, he sits up, jaw clamping down to keep himself from hissing in pain. 

Victor does his best not to roll his eyes. “I told you I would bring you dinner,” he says as he walks over to his bed. He sets the glass on the table and the plate on his lap. “You don’t have to eat all of it, but at least try to eat a bite of everything. I tried making it plainer, so you wouldn’t get sick from it.” He turns and walks back to the door. 

“Thank you, again,” Oswald says when his back is turned. 

He rests a hand on the doorknob and turns to look back at him, smiling. “You’re welcome. I’ll come back in a while to get your dishes.”

Victor gives Oswald plenty of time to eat. He didn’t want to rush him or bother him much more, Oswald needed the alone time. He comes back to his room a little over an hour later, knocking softly and opening the door.

The water is gone and the plate is almost empty, Oswald having eaten more than Victor had expected. Oswald is sitting on the edge of the bed this time, though his face says he would rather be doing anything else.

“Was it good?” Victor asks as he walks to the table. 

“Yes,” Oswald says curtly, his breathing a little labored. “Thank you, again, for cooking for everyone.”

“No need to thank me, it’s just what I do.” He watches Oswald for a moment, as he places the glass on the plate. His muscles are shaking from the strain of sitting himself up and he looks just as exhausted as the first time Victor came in. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, shoving any sound of pity from his voice. If Oswald thought he was pitying him, oh Victor would be in so much more trouble than he had already gotten himself into.

Oswald squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out his nose, grimacing for a moment before sighing, annoyed. “Help me to the bathroom,” he says, voice strong and commanding. No matter how much pain he was in, he would be damned if he showed any sign of not being in control.

Victor nods and steps forward, leaning down to offer his shoulder and arm to him. “Wrap an arm around my shoulders and place a hand on my elbow,” he tells him.

Oswald glares at him for a second, irritated at how willing he was to help. “I can just hold on to your elbow,” he spits out, grabbing onto Victor’s arm and pulling himself up.

He rolls his eyes at his stubbornness, just going with it. It takes a moment for Oswald to get his balance, but he’s soon standing, most of his weight on one leg and leaning against Victor, though he tries his best not to. Victor keeps his arm tense, supporting his weight easily. Oswald hisses when he takes his first step, his whole body shuffling and unsteady. 

They take maybe three small steps towards the connecting bathroom before Oswald collapses. 

Victor can feel it coming but doesn’t mention anything, knowing it was best to just let Oswald be stubborn and hurt himself. He catches him when he falls though, helping soften the blow from the hard wood floor. Carefully, he eases Oswald onto the ground, kneeling down next to him. “You okay?”

Oswald clenches his jaw tightly, baring his teeth as he breathes harshly through the pain. His ankle felt like toothpicks that were lit on fire and the flames were licking up the rest of his leg, radiating into his hip and lower back. “Yes,” he grits out after a couple of seconds. “I’m fine.”

He’s not fine. Victor can see the way his eyes are starting to tear up, probably because of both the pain and the humiliation he felt. His chest aches when he sees how much he was hurting, wanting to offer himself up to help ease it as much as he could. But he knew better.

“Hold on to my shoulder this time,” he says as he wraps one of Oswald’s arms around him. “And hold here,” he continues, placing Oswald’s other hand on his forearm, “it’ll give you more support.”

Oswald wants to be reluctant but knows that he’s in no position to argue. He does what Victor tells him to and grips him tightly.

Victor pulls him up and wraps an arm around his back to stabilize him better, taking most of his weight. It’s more secure this way, but Oswald absolutely hates how much he’s leaning against him. 

It takes them a while, but they make it to the bathroom. Victor opens the door for him and Oswald pushes off of him, grabbing onto the frame for support. “I can handle the rest of this myself,” he tells him, staring up at him defiantly. Victor doesn’t argue, but he does stand outside the door.

Oswald’s some dangerous mixture between irritated and relieved that Victor stayed close when he comes back out. He gestures for him to come back and Victor does so, supporting his weight again.

Oswald stumbles at one point while they’re walking and lashes out with an arm to grab onto any part of Victor that he can reach. He ends up digging his fingers into the side of his neck, above where his suit protects him. He immediately pulls his hand away once he’s regained his balance, swearing under his breath. “God, you are freezing.”

“I’m well aware,” he replies, keeping it snippy and not concerned. He doesn’t ask if Oswald is okay, if the pain is too much and he needs to rest on the short walk back to the bed. Oswald’s standing, or at least, mostly vertical, and coherent. He’s okay.

They get him back to the bed and Oswald moans in relief as he lays back down, propping his throbbing leg up on a pillow, shoving some other ones under his hips and back to balance the weight across all the main pain points. He looks tired from the effort.

Victor picks the dishes up once he’s sure he’s settled in. “Get some sleep,” he says as he walks to the door. He hears Oswald say something childish and ignores it as he takes the dishes back to the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days have passed and the dreary weather is still clinging to the city. Oswald asks Victor to help him shower, and to massage his ankle with his cold, cold hands afterwards.

It’s a routine that they keep for the next couple of days while the bad weather lingers, a week of gray skies and drizzles and low pressure. Victor brings Oswald breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and leaves snacks with him in case he needs something between those times. 

Oswald starts to relax minutely, allows himself to be mildly vulnerable around Victor. He doesn’t put up as much of a fight when Victor brings him food (he actually enjoys it, but he’s not going to admit that anytime soon). 

When Victor comes to get the dishes, Oswald catches him off guard. 

“Would you help me into the shower?” 

He pauses as his hand lifts the plate up and looks at him. Despite being willing to ask for things, Oswald is still stubborn and prideful. The look in his eyes is sharp and challenging, daring Victor to look down on him or have pity. Oswald doesn’t need to worry about that, but he doesn’t know. 

“Of course,” Victor responds as he sets the plate back down on the table.

“Good,” he says. “Help me get over to the dresser.”

Victor leans down and helps Oswald into a standing position, taking most of his weight. Oswald can move around easier since Victor’s been forcing him to eat something with nutritional value, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in pain. Food gives him energy he didn’t have before, not relief. 

Oswald leads him over to the dresser and picks out a full set of new clothes for himself. He hands them to Victor who takes them and tucks them under an arm while Oswald leans back against him. 

They get to the bathroom and Victor sets the clothes on the shelf next to the shower. He turns the water on at Oswald’s request, being careful not to get any on himself or his suit. The heat of it was already making him feel uncomfortable. He turns back to look at Oswald who has unbuttoned his shirt and thrown it in the waste basket. “If you need anything, I’ll be sitting outside,” he says as he walks past Oswald to the door.

“Wait,” Oswald stops him. 

He turns back to see him pushing his pants and underwear off and lifting them with his foot so he can throw it in the waste basket as well. When he looks at Victor, his cheeks are pink but not a single muscle on his face shows any embarrassment or insecurity in his nudity. “Help me into the shower. It’s hard for me to lift my leg over the tub.”

Victor nods, understanding. There’s a microscopic part of him that is put off at seeing Oswald naked, about wrapping his arms around him and supporting him as he lifts his legs to get into the shower. It’s easily overcome though by the caretaker instinct that Victor has. Nakedness is just a state of being when one needs help sometimes, there’s no shame or embarrassment that should come from it. 

Once Oswald is in the shower and seated on the shower bench he shoos Victor away, telling him that he’ll need him to get back out. Victor leaves him alone, the bathroom door cracked just enough that he’ll be able to hear him when he calls. He takes a seat in one of the chairs in his room and grabs a book from the bookshelf, reading it lazily.  
Oswald takes a long time to shower, probably just sitting enjoying the warmth of the water rather than washing himself for most it. It’s probably close to an hour later that Victor hears the water turn off and Oswald call for him.

When he opens the door, he’s hit with such a wall of steam that he has back away. The heat is almost unbearable, and he gives it a few moments to air out the bathroom. When he pushes back in, the mirrors are all fogged over and it’s still sweltering to him, but Oswald is sitting in the shower dripping wet and shaking from the chill that he’s starting to feel.

He grabs a towel and wraps it around Oswald’s shoulders, helping him stand up and climb out of the shower. Oswald dries himself off, breathing heavily and grinding his teeth from the pain of having to move his body so much. He gets dressed, slamming a hand against the wall at one point and hissing from the pain that shoots up his leg. 

Victor helps him back to the bed once he’s all set and helps move the pillows so he can be comfortable. Oswald relaxes into their plushness and lets out a deep sigh, feeling infinitely better at being clean again. 

“Anything else you would like?” Victor asks. It’s customary, to always make sure someone doesn’t need anything else before you leave. Not that Victor would ever use need when asking Oswald the question. It’s always “Something you want? Would you like anything else?” Need implies a sense of dependency, want gives a sense of agency. 

Oswald thinks for a moment before taking a deep breath and nodding. “Could you touch my ankle?” he asks, and for once there’s just a tiny hint of embarrassment in his voice. 

Victor is surprised but doesn’t show it, knowing he would probably get a bullet to the head if he did. He nods and sits down on the end of the bed, offering his lap up to Oswald.

Oswald’s hesitant at first, though he’s in too deep to back out now. He stretches his leg out gingerly, hissing as it sends a sharp needle of pain through him. “Can you take the gloves off?”

It’s Victor’s turn to hesitate. The suit helps keep his body temperature in control, though he could easily survive without the gloves on. Still, the thought of touching Oswald’s bare skin with his own is unnerving.

He does though, setting them next to him on the bed. He looks down at Oswald’s ankle and gently slips a hand underneath to support it, the other resting on top. His skin, still bright red from the hot shower, burns against Victors skin. 

Oswald’s reaction is instantaneous though. He gasps at the shock of the temperature difference before his head falls back among the pillows, his breath coming out in one big gust. 

“Is it too cold?” Victor ask, keeping his touch light.

“No, the cold feels amazing. I’ve been considering asking you this since I accidentally touched you,” Oswald says, his voice suddenly relaxed. “Can you squeeze a little? Pressure helps make it feel better.”

Victor does as he’s asked and Oswald clamps his jaw to keep in a pleased whine. He takes that as a good sign and becomes a little more confident, allowing himself to move his thumb in slow circles against the side of his ankle. 

Oswald sinks deep into the pillows as his body relaxes under his touch, the pain being eased from the coldness and the massage. 

Victor squeezes his ankle and foot, letting his thumbs work in deep, strong sweeps over his muscles, tendons, and bones. At one point he feels something crack and Oswald gasps, letting out a shaking groan. “I think you popped something back into place,” he wheezes out. 

“Does it feel better?” 

“Yes,” Oswald says, voice pleased and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, and slowly moves Oswald’s leg back off of him, setting it back down on the bed. He stands back up, puts his gloves back on (his hands felt like they were blistering, but he was just as damn prideful about his own condition as Oswald was), and grabs the plate, looking down at Oswald for a moment. 

He looks the closest thing to content and relaxed that Victor has ever seen him. His eyes are shut and he lets out a small breath, the corners of his mouth turning up the slightest bit. He stays in that moment, that moment where the pain is relieved enough that he could almost pretend it wasn’t there, before opening his eyes again.

“Anything else you’d like?” Victor offers.

Oswald shakes his head and waves a hand at him. “No, thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

Victor smiles widely at that. It’s not often that one gets such a genuine compliment from Oswald. “If you would like anything, you know how to ask me,” he says, taking one last glance at Oswald before taking the plate and heading out. 

He sets the plate in the kitchen sink and leans over it, letting out a breath. He’s shaken, his stomach dropping now that he was alone. There’s an ache in his chest and he rests a burning hand against himself, letting out a deep breath.

The image of Oswald like that; eyes closed, head laid back, small, relaxed smile on his face, had struck something in him. The look in his eyes when he finally came back too and turned to thank him, it was too familiar. He remembered how Nora would look at him like that when he had taken care of her. How he would brush her hair back and press a kiss to her forehead and tell her how beautiful and important she was to him. 

He swallowed a lump in his throat and pushed off the kitchen counter, heading back to the room in the mansion that acted as both his own bedroom and lab. He needed to be alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the return of good weather comes the return of Oswald getting into trouble. Victor helps him fix a dislocated shoulder, but is taken aback by both Oswald's reaction and his own.

The storm passes, and Oswald returns to his typical routine and habits. Victor doesn’t bother bringing him food anymore or to bother him as much. Oswald’s an adult, he knows how to ask for help (though Victor doubts how much he’ll actually use that knowledge.) With the return of nice weather comes the return of Oswald’s energy to execute his plans.

Oswald isn’t built for fighting, but that doesn’t prevent him from being dragged into them. Victor and Bridgett are there to help though, freezing and burning Oswald’s enemies respectively. That doesn’t mean they all get away unscathed.

Bridgett is driving with reckless abandon after they escape before slowing down and joining normal traffic. Victor is breathing slowly in the back seat, turning down the temperature on his suit. Bridgett was incredibly skilled, but it was rather unfortunate what she was skilled with. 

Oswald sat next to him, his teeth clenched together and hissing with every harsh turn or sudden stop she makes. He’s got one arm cradled by the other and is gingerly holding it in place. 

“Are you okay?” Victor asks as he turns to him. 

“No,” he hisses out. “My shoulder burns.”

“Did you get hit?”

“No, I checked.”

“I’ll check it for you when we get home.”

They were sitting on the couch and Victor was carefully feeling Oswald’s shoulder. Oswald told him what had happened in the blur of the fight, mentioning how one of the men had wrenched his arm around. 

“It feels out of place. Can you take your shirt off so I can get a better look?” Victor said after prodding at his shoulder for a few minutes.

Oswald nods and undoes his shirt with one hand, surprisingly good at it. He’s had injured shoulders before, he had learned how to maneuver with one. Still, he hisses and clenches his jaw as he slips it off his shoulders, letting it fall down his back and bunch up at his elbows.

Victor can see just how lopsided Oswald’s shoulders are like this. His left one is noticeably lower, his collar bone more prominent. There’s a minor discoloration as well, just a subtle dark purple tint to the skin around the joint.

“That’s definitely out of place,” he says as he looks at him. “I can put it back in.”

“Please,” Oswald says.

“This is going to hurt,” he tells Oswald as he sets a hand on his shoulder and cradles his elbow with the other. “Breathe in.”

Oswald does, squeezing his eyes shut.

“And out.”

When Oswald lets out the breath, Victor pushes on his elbow, up and in. Oswald’s face scrunches in on itself and he hisses loudly, groaning through the pain. Victor keeps the tension, rotating his arm slightly and then there’s a loud pop and his arm lurches. 

Oswald gasps and lets out a big breath, breathing harshly from the mixture of pain and relief that comes from having the bone pop back into the socket. Victor releases his arm and looks at his shoulders again, smiling at their evenness. “Better?”

Oswald nod slowly as the relief starts to wash over him, his eyes simply shut rather than squeezed and his jaw relaxed. His breathing is thick, but calm as the pain leaves.

Victor’s chest clenches as he looks at him. His shirt draped off his shoulders, how soft his skin looks, the blissful, peaceful, relaxed expression of eyes closed, jaw lack, head tilted back. It’s too familiar, too much like-

He’s plunged back into the moment by a burning on his check and jerks away from Oswald’s hand, staring into his eyes. “Victor,” he says, borderline breathless, his hand hovering over his skin. His eyes are bright, sparkling, adoring and Victor can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he stands up. Oswald’s hand drops to the chilled spot he left on the couch. “I’m sorry,” he stumbles over the words. He turns from Oswald and leaves, retreating to his room as the ache in his chest threatens to break him apart.

He locks the door behind himself and lets out a deep breath. His heart is beating fast (far slower than it used to beat, but it’s fast for his current state) and his hands are shaking. He strips out of his suit, letting the freezing air of his room blast against his skin. It relaxes him, allows him to try and calm down for a moment. He makes his way to his bed, sitting on it heavily and staring down at his hands. 

He can still feel the burn in them from when he massaged Oswald’s ankle and the weight of his arm in them. He clenches and unclenches them, looking up at the equipment and specimens he had laid out along the other side of his room. A shaky breath leaves he runs his fingers through his hair, laying himself down on his bed. 

Victor didn’t know what to do. Well, he knew he shouldn’t have ran out on Oswald with little explanation, but he couldn’t think, not in the center of the mansion like that. Seeing him like that, it made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t expected.

He had helped the others with their own injuries; stitching Ivy back up after a particularly nasty knife fight, teaching Bridgett how to use crutches properly when she had broken a leg, a whole plethora of small things to make everyone’s lives easier. Why was there something so special about Oswald?

He let out a slow breath, steadying his heart rate. He needed to figure things out, think through his emotions. Him and Oswald needed to talk about whatever was going on between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make it very clear that Victor isn't doing some "I'm not gay" bullshit here. I do head canon him as being straight, but the problem that is coming up isn't that another man is attracted to him or vice versa, it's just that a person in general is attracted to him and he's having some weird feelings in return because of Nora and how he still loves her.


End file.
